


don't you dare let me go

by blacksatinpointeshoes



Series: Holiday Drabbles [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Dancer!Robbie, Dancers, F/M, First Kiss, Gabe ships it, Gen, I TOLD YOU IT WAS SELF INDULGENT, Matador references, Mistletoe, QuakeRider Holiday Challenge 2017, Self-Indulgent, The Nutcracker, like SO self-indulgent you wouldn't believe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 17:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12988887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacksatinpointeshoes/pseuds/blacksatinpointeshoes
Summary: Daisy's been trying to catch the attention of a cute dancer all week. It's too bad he has no idea how to flirt back. Except - maybe there's more at play here than her dazzling smile.(A “This is the third time you’ve shown up at the coffee shop in costume for The Nutcracker and I’m starting to wonder if you own any other clothes” AU.)





	don't you dare let me go

**Author's Note:**

> this was an absolute, ABSOLUTE charm to write. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did :)

“Really?” says Daisy, because she feels like she knows this guy well enough by now to say it. “Do you own any clothes aside from that _Nutcracker_ costume?”

The man in front of her is a new but recurring customer who has come in three times in the past three days. He asks for the same thing every time – a single cup of peppermint tea at a coffee shop that produces the most exquisite lattes – and every time he arrives wearing tights, an overly embellished shirt, and ratty sneakers.

Daisy, who can put two and two together, knows he must be from the cast of professionals who perform _The Nutcracker_ every Christmas. She also knows they’ve been putting on the show all week, with one matinee and one evening performance. This four-thirty break must be a time for the dancers to stretch their legs and pick up something to eat.

The man who has crashed Daisy’s shift three days in a row is named Robbie. He doesn’t talk, he rarely smiles, and he’s always alone. Sometimes other people in the same ridiculous costumes will meet up with him after Robbie leaves the café, laughing and knocking him around like friends do, but for those few minutes between entry and depart he is completely by himself.

“I do, actually,” Robbie says, and Daisy realises that he’s responding to her initial jab about his clothes. “We don’t bother putting on street clothes between shows, though. It’s pointless.”

Daisy quirks a brow, trying to tamp her silly smile into something more controlled. “Street clothes?” she echoes. “That sounds rather…”

A bright red blush flares up on Robbie’s cheeks and he ducks his head, glancing to the side with a short chuckle. Daisy is in awe. Laughter? Amusement? Coming from this very stoic man – no, she cannot believe it. No way. “Yeah,” he says. “I know. Sometimes when you’re around these people all day, you don’t realise how it sounds.”

“Sounds kind of punk, for a ballerina,” Daisy says, turning on the charm. “I take it you want the usual?”

“Are you going to make fun of me for it?” Robbie counters, leaning in, because every single day Daisy has griped at him about the café’s extensive menu.

She rolls her eyes and folds her arms, her short ponytail swinging behind her. “Just because we have a variety of actual coffee you could get at this coffee shop doesn’t mean that I’m going to force you to get it.”

“Then I’ll have the usual,” Robbie says, and Daisy sighs internally. Well, she tried. And at any rate, the idea of Robbie having a ‘usual’ at this place fills her with a delightful intoxication, though she can’t fathom why.

“I’m literally just sticking a bag in a cup of hot water,” Daisy complains as she begins to make his drink. “It’s an insult to my skillset as a barista to only order tea.” She glances back at him and asks, “Are you sure you don’t want anything else?”

Daisy swears she sees Robbie’s eyes widen for a moment, that gorgeous red blush surging back at full force. He clears his throat, fingers tapping wildly on the counter as he stammers, “N-no. No, I’m good, I’m – I’m _good.”_

Daisy puts the lid on his steaming tea and plonks it down on the surface between them, her smile dazzling in the face of his flustered expression. “Whatever you say,” she says breezily, and rings him up.

She gives him a small pastry “on the house” to go with the tea and runs through her usual routine, trying not to notice how their hands brush when she passes Robbie the receipt. Daisy _knows_ she can get him if she wants to. It’s only a matter of waiting for her moment to come.

There’s a new customer at the counter, and Daisy turns on her heel, flashing Robbie a smile as he picks up his food and heads towards the door. When she returns to the register she realises he’s left behind his copy of the receipt, pinned down beneath a promotional magnet.

Annoyance and disappointment flash in Daisy’s chest – she thought that someone like him, soft-spoken and kind, with hardly an idea of how to flirt back at a girl, would have the decency to pick up a piece of paper. But apparently not. Oh well; at least he’ll only be in town for a few days.

Daisy moves to crush the receipt and her finger bumps into something hard; there is a sturdier, smaller paper beneath it. Heart racing, she pulls out the slip and examines it, unable to believe what she’s seeing.

_Admit One,_ the ticket reads, _The Nutcracker. December 24, 12:30 PM at the Fury Auditorium._ Underneath it, in a scrawl like chicken scratch, are the words: _Figured you should see why I’m always wearing this. –R._

Daisy is still for a solid thirty seconds in shock and awe and absolute amazement. She doesn’t care what the hell is going on the next day because she has an appointment to keep, and Simmons will just need to cover her shift. _Maybe,_ Daisy thinks to herself, that smile growing on her face (she doesn’t bother to stop it this time), _Robbie does know how to flirt back after all._

* * *

 

Daisy wears something nice to the performance of the ballet the next day. It’s a dress, long sleeved – the auditorium is always cold – and blood red, a layer of shimmering gauze rimming the hem. Her hair is pinned back, falling in waves down to her shoulders; her makeup is bright and innocent.

Jemma had proclaimed her “absolutely gorgeous” and then sighed in envy, because _she_ was stuck working. Daisy reminded her that Fitz had plans for that night, which cheered Simmons right up, and Daisy certainly did not want to know what those plans were.

Daisy steps into the auditorium holding her clutch bag, sliding the ticket with Robbie’s note back into her wallet. She scans the room and finds her seat, marvelling at how spectacular her view is. A few moments after Daisy sits down, a boy in a wheelchair approaches, looking just as surprised to see her as she is to see him.

“Excuse me,” says the boy, “you’re not allowed to be here.”

“Sorry?” says Daisy, drawing herself up. “And who might you be?”

It’s that moment where she sees the resemblance, where the hair and the eyes and the strong features all hit her. _Brother._ This is Robbie’s brother.

Warily, the newcomer regards her with fire in his eyes. “This area is reserved for family and friends of a performer,” he warns. “If you don’t leave –”

“Hey,” Daisy interrupts him, holding up her hands. “I’m a friend of Robbie’s, alright? I swear this is my seat; he was the one who gave me the ticket. My name is Daisy.”

Instantly the boy’s whole demeanour changes. _“You’re_ coffee Daisy?” he asks, much friendlier. “No way! A name like that, I thought you were white.” There’s a beat, and then he says, “Damn, that came out wrong – uh, I’m Gabe. Robbie’s brother. Nice to finally meet you.”

Daisy laughs and shakes his hand, scooting over so Gabe can fit his chair into the space between seats. “You too,” she says. “Listen, does Robbie _ever_ drink coffee? I’ve been begging him to try a latte, a cappuccino, _anything,_ for this whole week, but he won’t bite.”

Gabe shakes his head. “He says it’s something about the caffeine. Won’t even drink decaf. The only coffee in the house belongs to me.”

Relief spreads over Daisy’s face, manifesting in a conspiratorial grin. “You’re a coffee drinker? Oh, thank _God –_ if you come into the café, I might be partial to sharing my employee discount.”

Gabe glances right back at her with mischief dancing in those dark brown eyes. “You mean,” he says, “if I bring _Robbie_ into the café, don’t you? If the way he’s talking about you is any indication –”

“He talks about me?” Daisy blurts before she can stop herself, and Gabe’s wide smile is knowing.

“Daisy,” he says, “just get his number. Otherwise I’m going to have a terrible New Year once the company leaves town and Robbie spends the next three weeks sulking over you.”

The words spark a contradictory thrill in Daisy’s heart and she turns away so Gabe can’t see how dazzling her smile is. This silly coffee-shop fling has the promise of so, so much more, and if the way she’s getting along with Gabe is any indication, Daisy doesn’t ever want to let it go.

 

* * *

 

Daisy gasps when Robbie comes out on stage; Gabe laughs from beside her. Despite the blush on her cheeks, Daisy can’t help but lean forwards – he is mesmerising when he dances, a creature of power and strength and grace. Robbie is completely transformed.

When he speaks, he’s shy and quiet, but he owns the stage. It’s like Daisy has been missing half of a person, this alter-ego who dominates any space he enters with bold sweeps of a hand and gravity-defying jumps. Daisy is barely breathing, her eyes wide with rapture as Robbie makes himself known.

He is absolutely magnificent. He moves across the floor like he was born to win over a crowd; none of the rules of physics apply as Robbie propels himself into the air with utter confidence and grandeur. His expression is sympathetic, gentle; when he transforms from the Nutcracker into the Prince, everyone in the theatre falls a little bit in love with him.

Daisy knew Robbie was good – the company that comes through each winter takes up most of the tiny performing art centre’s budget, and all of its dancers are magnificent – but watching him is unlike anything she’s ever seen. Knowing him, and his manners, turn the show into an intimate display. The world fades and Daisy feels like she is watching a performance meant for her, and her alone.

Very, very briefly, she wonders how powerful he would be in bed. But only very briefly. Okay, once or twice. Wearing those tights, it’s hard not to.

The two act ballet whisks by much too fast, and Daisy is left in awe as the final curtain falls. Gabe takes one look at her face and bursts out laughing again, gesturing for Daisy to follow him. “We can meet Robbie at the stage door,” he explains. “After he says hello to the crowd, we’ll go backstage.”

Daisy is seized with a sudden anxiety. “Gabe, I don’t want to intrude,” she says as they push through a sea of chattering ballet enthusiasts. “Maybe I should leave Robbie alone –”

Gabe shoots her a dirty look. “Listen,” he says, “the two of you have a lot to talk about. If not for yourself, do it for me.” Then Daisy shuts up because she really, really wants to see Robbie now, and sure as hell isn’t going to continue talking herself out of it.

It’s cold out, and clouds are gathering in the sky; Robbie and the rest of the cast are wearing jackets over their costumes as they greet children and adults alike who have been transported by their dance. Gabe waves his brother over and Daisy’s breath is stolen again.

Robbie is still in costume, his ballet shoes replaced with those familiar ratty sneakers, and he’s wearing a leather jacket over his shirt. Daisy’s heart stutters at the sight of that jacket and those tights, hugging his legs and leaving almost nothing to the imagination. _Eyes up here, girl. Come on._

Robbie’s smile is brilliant as he jogs towards the two of them and Daisy waves, her thoughts scattering. “You came,” Robbie says, his voice a low rumble and his cheeks still flushed with the exhilaration of dance.

“I did,” Daisy replies, soft and simple. She doesn’t know how to talk to him like this, doesn’t know what’s wrong with her.

“I had to go so suddenly,” Robbie says, and Gabe makes a gagging noise that both of the others miss. “I… I wanted to ask you for real, but you had a customer, and I had to get back –”

“No,” Daisy says, cutting him off. “It’s fine. I’m glad I got to come.”

Robbie clears his throat. “Me too.”

Gabe says, “I’m leaving,” and Robbie reaches out to tousle his brother’s hair.

“There’s money in my dressing room,” he says, but Gabe waves him off and heads towards the main street. Daisy receives a very pointed look that says _don’t mess this up_ and she smiles at him. She really likes this kid.

“So,” says Robbie quietly, shy.

“You were magnificent,” Daisy says, and she doesn’t know why she’s saying it. “I’ve never seen anyone dance like that. I’ve seen this ballet before; I’ve seen it here, actually, but this… it was different. You’re different.”

“Different?” Robbie echoes, and he’s the one with the little smirk on his face now. “Different how?”

Daisy steps closer to him, whispers, “It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

As a prize she gets to see that blush again, a magnificent thing that stains his cheeks like a sunset. He is smiling like a child in a toy store. “I’m glad you liked it.”

From nearby, there is a jingle; Daisy and Robbie turn to see another one of the dancers holding a sprig of mistletoe over their heads. Robbie’s smile turns wry and he bats it away, saying, “Come on, Holester, you promised you weren’t going to mess this up.”

“Mess it up?” says the newcomer, a wiry man with striking blue eyes and a distinct English accent. “This is going exactly how it’s supposed to.” The mistletoe jingles again and Holester grins mischievously. “Mistletoe means –”

“Go find yourself a girl,” Robbie gripes without any malice. “Maybe you can try that story again about how you’re a famous soccer player –”

“Oh, piss off!” Holester says, still grinning, but leaves them alone.

Daisy glances at Robbie as he turns back to her, looking up at him through long, dark lashes. “You know,” she says, teasing, “he’s not wrong.”

“Oh?” Robbie asks, enjoying this.

“About the mistletoe.”

_“Oh.”_

Daisy steps closer, her breath coming in little puffs of white air. She tilts her face upwards, taking him in, his cheeks red in the cold and his hair dusted with the snow that’s just beginning to fall.

“I think we could work with that,” Robbie murmurs, and kisses her.

And Daisy is right where she’s supposed to be.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I love reading what you have to say! let me know with comments, kudos, or just yelling at me on my tumblr (thoughtsbubble) - everything is dearly appreciated :)


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